Chapter 10
Masks and Mirrors
“Well met, brother dear.”
Gideon looked up from his position at the rails overlooking the beach to see his brother striding towards him.
People turned to look as he passed, men and women alike, for Damian was impossible to ignore.
His deep blue tailcoat fitted him to perfection, showing off an athletic physique which owed nothing to physical labour, but more to Jackson’s salon and to his skill with a fencing foil.
Beneath the dark tailcoat, he wore a silk waistcoat of pale green, embroidered with tiny roses, and he had tied his neckcloth with a precision that must have taken him—or his valet—considerable time.
Gideon repressed a niggle of envy. It wasn’t as if he’d dress that way even if he could afford to, but his brother couldn’t bloody afford it either and still did so.
“Damian,” he said coolly. Both Ludlow and Ridley had told him about Damian’s visit to site, but he had not bothered returning his brother’s call, knowing he’d turn up of his own accord if he wished to.
“I visited your place of work the other day,” Damian replied, using the phrase, place of work, like it tasted unpleasant.
It probably did to Damian, who had never done a day’s work in his life.
Well, why would he, being a gentleman and all?
Though how he paid his bills, Gideon had no clue.
Well, except that sometimes he didn’t and people tried to get Gideon to cough up instead.
“So I hear.”
“But you had gone off on private business.”
“That’s what I told them,” Gideon agreed, returning his attention to the view. He was regretting his impulse to stand and watch the sea for a while before going home for the evening. If he’d just returned to his unappealing lodgings, he might not have had to deal with Damian.
“How was our dear mama?” he enquired sweetly.
Gideon shot him a hard look. “Don’t do that.”
Damian returned a reproachful expression. “Do what?”
“Take the piss. She’s sick. It’s not her fault.”
Damian shrugged, a hard set to his jaw. “Sick, evil, whichever excuse helps you to sleep at night, Deon, it’s all the same to me.”
“Did you want something?” Gideon turned to face his brother, folding his arms.
“You’re the one who's been chasing around trying to run me to ground,” Damian remarked, leaning on the rail beside Gideon and looking out to sea.
Gideon studied him for a moment, wishing he knew what the devil was he playing at. “You may have noticed I gave up. I wanted to know what you were playing at, coming here, but I decided I was better off not knowing. Whatever it is, just leave me out of it.”
Damian’s grey eyes were inscrutable.
“I mean it, Damian. This job means everything to me. If you screw it up, or put it at risk in any way, I’ll bloody kill you, no matter if it means up ending in the same bloody place as our mother.”
“Oh, you’ll not end there,” Damian said carelessly. “You can’t think I’d spend that kind of money on the pair of you?”
Gideon snorted, amused despite himself. “Christ, Damian, you are a heartless bastard.”
His brother, handsome and titled and clever, smiled beatifically back at him. “So they say, Deon. So they say.”
Damian’s eyes focused on something behind Gideon, his gaze sharpening for a moment before turning back to Gideon.
“I tell you what. I will do you a deal, brother mine. I promise I will not cause trouble for you, and I shall stay away from your precious hotel. All you need do is grant me one small favour.”
Gideon narrowed his eyes. Dealing with Damian was never a straightforward business. One always had to look for the catch. He only kept promises under certain conditions, a fact Gideon knew all too well. “What favour?”
Damian shrugged his elegant shoulders. “An introduction, that’s all. And before you accuse me of nefarious intentions, I swear to you, I have none. It’s only that the company here is of a respectable kind I am unfamiliar with, and so I am feeling a little bereft of friends.”
“And supposing I can offer such an introduction, and am allowed to make it, what guarantee do I have that you will continue to behave as you ought?”
“As I said,” Damian replied, his voice colder now. “I have no nefarious intentions, my word as a gentleman.”
Gideon suppressed a little niggle of guilt.
Damian rarely invoked his honour, usually because he had no intention of keeping whatever promise he was making, but if he did, Gideon had never known him to betray it.
An oath of that kind was binding to Damian, which was why he never spoke them unless he had to.
Well, the man had given his word as a gentleman, and it would be one less thing for Gideon to fret over if he knew Damian would not cause him any trouble.
“Very well, to whom do you want to be introduced?”
“Good day to you, Mr Bramwell.”
Gideon turned to see Lady Hetty and her sister.
Against his will, his heart lightened at the sight of Hetty, who looked lovely in primrose yellow.
“Lady Henrietta, Lady Cecilia, a pleasure to see you both,” he said politely and then glanced at his brother, who was regarding him steadily, an expectant glint in his eyes.
Damnation.
Damian quirked an eyebrow. “I’m waiting,” he murmured.
Gideon glowered at him, he would need to warn Hetty about his brother, though he suspected she could hold her own. “Lady Henrietta, Lady Cecilia, might I present to you my brother, Viscount Rivington.”
Damian took off his hat and gave an elegant bow. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last,” he said politely.
Hetty snorted. “By hook or by crook,” she muttered, turning her attention back to Gideon.
Gideon smiled, rather delighted by her response to his too handsome sibling. But Gideon noticed Damian was not looking at Hetty, but at Cecilia.
“How goes work on the hotel?” Hetty asked, oblivious to the conversation going on behind her.
“Very well, I think,” Gideon said, though he’d had several complaints from the men today.
Minor things only, missing tools, and minor discrepancies in the latest deliveries.
There was nothing of note, and such irritations were commonplace, especially when such large quantities were being delivered, and on a busy site things were easily mislaid or lost, and yet… He needed to look into it.
“I still haven’t seen the plans for the bedroom suites,” Hetty said, giving him a direct look.
Gideon smiled. “No. I’m afraid I’ve had a lot on my mind. I would appreciate your observations, though, if you have the time?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know very well that I do and that I’m champing at the bit to find something else amiss. How it delights me to vex you,” she said, her eyes alight with devilry.
“Really? I had not noticed,” he replied blandly.
Hetty pulled a face at him. “Come to dinner tomorrow night. We can discuss the plans after.”
“Oh, I don’t…”
“Yes, you must. You look like you could do with a good meal, and Gee-Gee will love to see you again. There it’s settled.”
“Indeed, it is,” Lady Cecilia said in her soft voice before Gideon could protest. “We shall look forward to seeing you both tomorrow. Good evening, gentlemen.
Gideon saw Hetty’s mouth fall open, registered her desire to protest strongly against her sister extending the invitation to his brother, but she could not do so.
Instead, she returned a tight smile, shooting a glare at Damian, and then one at Gideon that suggested he had better keep his brother in line.
Oh, bloody hell. Well, this ought to be fun.
Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 1st August 1816
Damian glanced at his brother as they walked up the drive to Hatherley Hall. Deon could never have been accused of being loquacious, but he seemed quieter than ever, and so tense Damian wondered if he would snap like a bowstring at any moment.
If the poor fool didn’t let off steam soon, he really might go the way of their mother.
He ought to find himself a comfortable widow, someone to dote on him and make love to him when the world looked bleak.
But Gideon would rather spend his blunt on keeping their bedlamite of a mother in high style.
No doubt he was fretting about what manner of inequity Damian had planned, how he would scandalise this fine family and go about debauching their guests. Irritation simmered beneath his skin. Admittedly, he’d earned a good deal of his wicked reputation, but he wasn’t the bloody devil either.
“Worried I might steal the silver, brother dear?” he remarked, slanting Gideon a sardonic smile.
Gideon glowered at him. “Not the silver.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Virtuous young ladies have never held any appeal for me.”
“You ruined Miss Bradford.”
Damian felt a shaft of pure rage strike deep in his soul.
He supposed he could not blame Gideon for believing the worst of him.
He’d gone out of his way to make such stories credible, but it still stung.
“I never laid a finger on that bloody harpy, and I was not about to marry her when she created the entire scene.”
“Honour be damned,” Gideon said quietly.
Damian stopped in his tracks. His chest felt tight, and it took considerable effort to unclench his fists and adopt an expression of careless indifference.
“Indeed. You would bleed yourself dry upon the altar of honour, where I only visit on high days and holidays. I wonder which of us is the better for it.”
Gideon let out a breath and gazed up at the sky. “Look, Damian, I don’t want to argue with you, and I certainly don’t want to cause a scene tonight. Neither of us ought to be here but let us try to emerge from this evening without doing anything either of us will regret.”
Damian shrugged. “It sounds dull, but whatever will make you stop looking like you’re on the way to your own execution.”
“I’ll try,” Gideon said, stretching his lips in a parody of a smile.
Damian pulled a face. “Stop that, you’re scaring me.”